A/N: Hi everyone! Two things:

1) I'm back at writing on here! It feels so good and nostalgic :')

2) I know this book is usually funny, but this story is going to be a sad one. I actually wrote this for my high school creative writing class. Being a few years into college now, I totally forgot this was on my computer, but I stumbled upon it and wanted to share it here with you all! I hope you enjoy!

Also, TW: child abuse & domestic violence.

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Mama's Boy

(In which Dallas Winston writes a letter to the mother he lost.)

I was your Mama's boy.

I was cheerful and adventurous. I loved playing with toy trucks on the living room floor and floating boats in the bathtub. I loved the smell of your hair. I jumped over mud puddles like they were lava and sometimes fell into them. I loved it when you took care of my wounds. I liked to camp outdoors. I sprayed you with a squirt gun once. I always made you smile. I tasted every meal you made, making sure it was just right before Anthony came home. I was afraid of spiders. I was a lover of life and had many friends. I was your little Mama's boy, your pride and joy. 

Eventually, it was all thrown away.

Now I am reckless. I am known as a JD and a hood, and I don't care about anyone or anything. I lie, smoke, drink, cheat, steal, get arrested, repeat. I've beaten up and I've been beat up. I'm fearless and don't put up with anyone's shit. I barely come home anymore. I've been with more girls than the amount of times Anthony had hit you—and that's a lot. I am a member of a gang. I never sleep in the same bed at night. I am a menace to society, and I already know I'm going to Hell for all the things I've done. I know I have let you down, Mama, but I am not your Mama's boy anymore.

I remember the way you would look at me. You had the prettiest smile. Your lips were as red as a poppy, and I loved it when you would kiss me goodnight. You never yelled at me. Of course you would scorn, but never yelled. You would always hold me in your soft, delicate arms when I was hurt or couldn't sleep at night. Your hair was a rare combination of soft and curly, and I loved it when you would hug me tight, because it was only then that I could smell my favorite fragrance of strawberries, or whatever you used to shampoo your hair.

People said I had your eyes. Your eyes were a nice bright blue, and were always sparkling with pride and joy whenever I was around. They also said I had your personality with a little hint of recklessness and adventure. You were an angel, and I always tried to follow in your footsteps. I hated disappointing you. In school I was friendly and smart and athletic. I had a lot going for me. You would have been proud. Would have.

I miss the way you would look at me. Nowadays people look at me in disgust or in fear or in both. I always get yelled at by the police. Nobody kisses me goodnight except for one of my constant hookups. I don't let anybody touch me or else I pull a blade on them. I don't even like strawberries anymore. I've lost the niceness, the friendliness, the adventure in my bright blue eyes that were once compared to yours. They're still bright, but they've turned icy and cold over the years, and are probably as hard as Anthony's now. I am the spitting image of that bastard and I hate myself. I hate that I have followed in his footsteps instead of yours. I'm not friendly anymore and I dropped out of school. I have nothing going for me anymore. The only person that has kept me alive is you—the memory of you, at least.

I know that you would want me to be happy. You would want me to get away from Anthony somehow. You would want me to find a nice girl and marry her, and treat her exactly like you should have been treated. You would want me to have kids and raise them to be better. You would want me to spend the rest of my life loving my wife and growing old with her, instead of rotting in a jail cell from time to time. Just the thought of your boy having a record with the police would immediately break your heart, and I know it has, Mama. 

The first time I was arrested was when I was ten. We were in New York then. I did some stupid shit and tried stealing food from a corner store because Anthony hadn't fed me anything in days. I also might have stolen a man's wallet for whatever else I wanted to buy. I think I bought a train ticket. Anyway, I got caught and when Anthony picked me up at the police station, he told the officers I was trying to run away from all the good shit we had at home and that I was crazy. It was a lie. He beat me up with his belt when we got home.

His belt. I can't bear looking at that damned thing. It was the thing that killed you, Mama. The thing that I should have protected you from. But I couldn't.

It was my seventh birthday. You had just given me my present, another Tonka truck, and an additional twenty dollars that I could use later for anything I wanted. Suddenly, when the front door started to unlock, I noticed that fear had washed over your pretty face, and you told me to go to my room and hide the truck and the money. I obeyed. When Anthony entered the house, I knew that it wasn't safe to return downstairs.

"What's for dinner?" I heard him ask.

You sighed. "Whatever Dally wants."

"Why does the kid get what he wants?"

"Because it's his birthday, Anthony."

"Oh. Right."

For a moment there, my heart sank. He had forgotten about my birthday.

"You can't remember the day your own son was born?" you asked him.

I heard him sigh, exhausted. "I try to forget miserable moments in my life."

This time, you gasped loudly. "Anthony!"

I'd hear him say that he didn't want me all the time, but this really hurt. Not on my birthday... not on the day I wanted to be happy.

"What?" he defended himself. "Dallas is only another mouth to feed and it's sickening! All he's gonna do in life is become some hoodlum who is no good and dies by gunshot from some cop!"

"Dally is a smart boy and he has his whole life ahead of him!" you stuck up for me.

"Why do you call him that stupid pet name? We named him Dallas, not Dally!"

Your voice grew higher now. "He likes being called Dally! And why would it matter to you, anyway? All you think of him is a bump on a log!"

I heard the smack then. I knew he had hit you, but I tried telling myself he didn't. I tried telling myself I didn't hear any of it, that he didn't want me and that I was destined to become a hoodlum.

I decided to go downstairs anyway. I had to see if you were alright.

I turned from the staircase and could see clearly into the kitchen. You were kneeling on the floor, holding where you had been hit—your cheek—and Anthony was standing above you, looming over you. My soft voice echoed through the hall. "Mama?"

I heard you make a crying noise, and I ran over to you, not even caring that Anthony was there. "Mama! Are you okay?"

You brought me into a hug and said, "It's okay,  Dally. Mama's okay."

"Dallas!" Anthony's angry voice made us both flinch. "Bring me the money your mother gave you."

You sniffled and responded coolly, "It belongs to him, Anthony."

"Nobody asked you, Susie. Dallas, the money. Now."

I looked up at him with wide eyes. "But Mama said—"

"BOY!" he yelled, grabbing me roughly by the arm. "Do what I tell you!"

"Y-Yes, Daddy, I'm sorry!" I answered, and I ran into my room and retrieved the twenty dollars. Coming down the stairs, I heard you speak up:

"Why do you do this, Anthony? Why are you so mean to us? Why can't you just be nice for once?"

"Shut up!" Anthony yelled, and I heard something hit the floor. I stopped in my tracks. Then, Anthony hollered for me this time, and I jumped in my skin. "DALLAS! GET DOWN HERE!"

I rushed over with my head down. "H-Here, Daddy." I handed him the money.

Anthony sighed and put it the twenty in his wallet. "Thank you. Now pay attention, Dallas. This is what your mother gets for when she talks back."

My eyes widened when I saw Anthony taking off his brown belt. "No, Daddy! No! Hit me, hit me!"

"Anthony, please!" you cried. "Please, you don't have to do this."

He did it anyway. He pushed me away and I fell on the ground. I watched him give you a few whippings, and I wanted so badly to help you, but all I could do was watch, horrified, with my big blue eyes that always see too much.

It was about time when Anthony stopped hitting you, and he looked exhausted. He grumbled something under his breath before strapping back on his belt and exiting the house. Right when the door shut, I immediately knelt by your side and shook your arm. "Mama? Mama, are you okay?"

You weren't moving. I shook you harder. "Mama, you have to wake up."

You weren't waking up. I suddenly had a scary thought that Anthony had actually killed you this time.

I shook you even harder. "Mama! Are you alive?" I pressed my ear to your chest. I heard very, very light breathing. I shook you again. "Mama, wake up! Daddy's gone! You can wake up now, Mama!"

"Dally?" I heard your weak, angelic voice say. I grew excited, and I saw that you had opened your eyes, though they were red and tear-stained.

"Mama, you're okay!" I exclaimed, and I hugged you.

"Oh, Dally," your voice was abnormally weaker and breathy. "I'm in too much pain," you suddenly told me, trying to suppress your agony, but I could clearly see the tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

"Y-You'll be okay," I tried assuring you, "You'll be okay, Mama. You always are."

What frightened me was that you shook your head. "Oh, Dally," you cried, taking my hands, "I'm in too much pain. I can't..."

I had started crying before I knew that I was crying. "No, Mama! Don't go! Please don't go!"

"As long as you keep me in your heart, I will always be with you," you smiled. "We'll only be away for a short while, okay? I promise. Until then, you have to promise me something, Dally. Can you promise me something?"

I nodded, sniffling and rubbing my eyes with my sleeve. "Yes, Mama."

At that moment, you looked straight into my eyes, your bright blue ones sparkling from your tears. "You have to promise me you'll be a good boy, okay? You have to promise me you'll always be nice to others, you'll always be strong, you'll be everything your father never was..."

"Mama, please don't go," I choked on my tears.

"Promise me, Dallas," you said more seriously. "Promise me you'll be a good boy, okay?"

"I promise," I said, "I promise, Mama."

You smiled at me, and you brought down my head with your weak palm and gently kissed my forehead. "I love you so, so much, Dallas. More than anything in the entire world."

I squeezed your still frame like I would never let you go. I sobbed into your shoulder, "I love you too, Mama. More than anything."

When we parted, you nodded your head and hurriedly told me, "Now hurry, Dallas. You must run away before your father comes back. You must stay away from him! For me."

"I will, Mama," I cried heavy tears, "I will."

You were losing all your energy. "Go, Dally! Run away!" you whispered.

I sniffled. "B-But I don't wanna leave you, Mama..."

"Go!" you pushed. "Run away, Dally! Run away!"

Run away, Dally. That's all I've ever been doing. Running away from all my problems, from all my feelings, from the police, from Anthony, from you. Feelings are for the weak, Mama, and you were weak. I was weak. I could have saved you. If I was stronger, I could have saved you. You would have lived. And I wouldn't have to live with all this guilt, all this pain, all this loss of the one person who ever truly loved me. I hope you still love me after all of the horrible things I have done. I wish I could make it up to you, to change the past, to kill Anthony, to do something, so that I could just see you again for one last time.

When you're a hood, you push things like this away. You push it into a deep, empty hole somewhere in your body where nobody can find it, stuff it with your deepest emotions and darkest secrets, cover it with your desired ego, and lock it with a dangerous face and an unwelcome sign. Nobody can discover it. Nobody can uncover it. Nobody can dig into you, because they can't even handle digging into you in the first place. You're a hopeless mistake to fix, an impossible heart to mend. You're stuck.

When you're a hood, you have to push things like this away. You can't be weak. You can't do everything you want to do and you can't have everything you want to have. I want to look into your pretty blue eyes again. I want to smell the strawberries in your hair. I want you to kiss me goodnight and take all the pain away. I want to hug you, squeeze you, feel all the love that I have been missing for the past ten years. I want to see you smile at me and be proud of who I became. I want you to be at the wedding I'll never have. I want you to meet your grandchildren that I'll probably accidentally have. I want you to be with me, be here, be by my side every single moment of every single day, so that I don't have to feel so alone all the time.

I want to fulfill my promise to you, Mama. I want to stop acting like that horrible excuse for a father, and be that good boy you always wanted me to be. I want to be your Mama's boy again, even if it's just for a day. I want to be your Mama's boy again, even though I know I never can be.